She told him the truth bravely. "I am a little afraid of women like that."
"Of Eve and Winifred? Why?"
"We are people of two worlds, Dr. Brooks—and they feel it."
His conversation with Eve recurring to him, he was not prepared to argue. But he was prepared to have his own way.
"Isn't your world mine?" he demanded. "And you mustn't mind Eve. She's all right when you know her. Just stiffen your backbone, and remember that you are the granddaughter of Cynthia Warfield."
After that she gave in and came down presently in a shabby little habit with her hair tied with a black bow. "It's a good thing it is dark," she said. "I haven't any up-to-date clothes."
As they went along he asked her to go to the hunt breakfast on Monday.
"I can't. School opens and my work begins."
"By Jove, I had forgotten. I shall be glad to hear the bell. When I am riding over the hills it seems to call—as it called to my grandfather and to be saying the same things; it is a great inspiration to have a background like that to one's life. Do you know what I mean?"
She did know, and they talked about it—these two young and eager souls to whom life spoke of things to be done, and done well.
